


Because You Smile

by mylittlecthulhu (marineko)



Category: Arashi (Band), Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 06:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10588695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marineko/pseuds/mylittlecthulhu
Summary: After living in the city for a long time, Jun visits his old hometown and meets his childhood crush.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [r_1_ss_a](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=r_1_ss_a).



> Written for Rissa, as part of the Help Philippines Graphics & Fic Auction (2012)

The place he was born was cold – Jun didn’t know why it was what he remembered above all things. After all, he knew that the summers were unbearably hot, despite the winds. The cold seasons were shorter, and yet they were all that came to his mind when he tried to remember his home.

He hadn’t been back since he was eighteen.

The orphanage looked exactly the way he remembered it – not as big as imposing as it had been in his mind, but it still had the same blue windows that needed a fresh coat of paint, the same outdated light fixtures outside that he remembered Yanagi-san kept saying she wanted to replace. 

Yanagi-san, too, hadn’t changed. She was older – he should have expected that, but for some reason he still felt a sad pang to see her stooped with age. Even so, she still had the same stern expression, which would smooth away when she smiled. He remembered how when he was younger, he would always do whatever he could to see that smile.

“I’m sorry that you had to come all the way,” she said. “I know you would like to forget this place.”

“It’s not –”

She smiled. “It’s nothing to be sorry or ashamed about. Half of the children who grew up here end up leaving as soon as they could, eager to erase the memories from their minds. The other half – it’s like they never could leave.”

Jun had heard of them, of course – those who would return, and act as mentors to the newcomers. He had known a few of them himself, from when he lived there. He hadn’t been close to any of them, though. He had tried not to get close to anyone. He supposed that Yanagi-san had probably expected him to leave, and never look back. 

“They dropped this off here, because this was as far as they got, when they tried to track you down.” She passed him the thick brown envelope; it looked weathered, like it had been through a lot. 

Just like him, Jun thought, and suppressed a smile. “You could have given them my forwarding address, or mailed it to me.”

“It took me awhile to find your address. And this had seemed important to them; I felt like it was best to give it to you personally.”

Jun remembered that the last address he had left with her was a fake. He still didn’t know how she had found him, but he figured that it didn’t matter. He was there, and perhaps whatever the brown envelope held, it was important enough to make it worth it. He flipped it over in his hands, looking. Only his name was written on it, in a script that he couldn’t quite place, but was achingly familiar.

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t know if he cared about the envelope, or its contents, or anything to do with the past, but he put all of his gratitude to Yanagi-san, and all that she had done for him, in his words.

})i({

_“Cooking school?”_

_He could hear the incredulous tone, and could imagine Miyazaki-san’s expression of disbelief, even if he couldn’t see them. He backed up into the shadows, thankful for the tall cupboards and shelves. He held in his breath; he had sent in the application without telling anyone, and even though he was pretty sure that he could get a scholarship, the school would want Yanagi-san’s permission._

_“It’s a good school. I don’t know anything about these things, but even I have heard of this school.”_

_“The fees must be expensive.”_

_“They’re giving him a scholarship.”_

_He heard the sigh from Miyazaki-san. “Cooking school. Who would’ve guessed? That kid’s been strange from day one – always kept to himself. Really uptight, too.”_

_“He’s just very focused. He knew what he wanted, and he worked hard to get it.” Jun could hear the pride in Yanagi-san’s voice, and swallowed. He had never known that she had considered him in any way at all, other than just one of so many._

_He slipped away before hearing Miyazaki-san’s reply. It didn’t matter what his teacher said; Yanagi-san was going to let him go._

})i({

“Jun?”

It took him a moment to realize that he was being spoken to, and a longer to place the voice. He stilled. “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He was curious, though, and stared at the other man longer than what would be normal. He wasn’t lying, he told himself – he _was_ a different person.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before, though. Are you here for the convention?”

“Mm,” Jun replied, non-committal. He hoped that Ohno would leave, but his aloofness only served to spur the other man on. Ohno started asking ridiculous questions about the convention, until he finally snapped. “Satoshi, shut up.”

Ohno grinned, and stepped closer, as if to hug him, but stopped before he got close. “You remember me.”

“How could I forget?”

“You forgot me when…” Ohno faltered, unable to finish the sentence. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t forget,” Jun repeated, his voice quieter than before. “It’s just – a lot of things happened.”

“I heard.” Ohno paused. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jun said drily. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’m still sorry,” Ohno murmured. “I heard that you became an executive chef at some fancy restaurant in the city.”

It was just a small place, but it had the perfect kitchen and Jun loved it. He was impressed with Ohno’s resourcefulness.

“I heard that you left to live on some island or something.”

“I just moved back here last year,” Ohno explained. “And it wasn’t an island.” 

He didn’t offer further explanations, and Jun didn’t ask. Both of them stood silently, looking at each other while trying not to look like they were looking. Ohno looked different. Older. But then again, he supposed, the same went for him.

“I’m just here to pick something up at the orphanage,” Jun said awkwardly. “I guess I’ll be leaving.”

“Stay.” Seeing Jun’s eyes widen, Ohno shook his head, and smiled a little. “We were friends once, weren’t we? Let’s catch up. Stay.”

“There’s that convention going on – the guest houses and hotels are fully booked.”

“You can stay at my place.”

“But –”

“It’s fine. You’ll love my roommate. Everyone does.”

“I can’t –”

“He’s a chef, too.”

“Satoshi.”

“We’ve known each other since we were kids, but you haven’t really talked to me since – you left for the orphanage.” Ohno didn’t have to continue, but Jun knew what he was thinking. As if ignoring his friends at school wasn’t bad enough, he had left town without even saying goodbye.

He looked at Ohno, guilt gnawing at him. But he wasn’t the same person that Ohno had once known, and only let a mildly irritated expression show as he said all right, he would stay.

})i({

There was nothing “lovable” about Aiba Masaki, the guy who lived with Ohno. Aiba was a lot of things – (overly) friendly, (excessively) loud, (unbelievably) silly, (incredibly) funny, and (uncomfortably) attractive. But just one look at his kitchen – even though it was Ohno’s place as well, Jun thought of the kitchen as Aiba’s – and Jun knew that they wouldn’t get along.

The fridge was well-stocked, but the sink was full of unwashed dishes, the floor had stains from spilled items, and there seemed to be no organization at all in where Aiba placed everything. Or rather, Aiba’s way of organizing seemed to mean “whatever clear space that’s nearest.” And there were splatter stains on the wall, looking very much like remnants of past explosive moments.

Jun had wanted to make something for Ohno, to make up for all the years he’d ignored his friend, but he couldn’t stand Aiba’s kitchen.

Aiba had insisted that he cook for them all, anyway.

Jun fidgeted in the living room, wondering if he should stride over into the kitchen and take charge, every time he could hear a yelp or a strange exclamation from the kitchen. Mostly, though, Aiba sang while he cooked.

“Don’t worry; he’s always like that. He’s good, despite what you may think. He’s been cooking for me ever since he moved in, and he hasn’t poisoned me yet.”

Ohno’s testimony wasn’t exactly the most reassuring, since Jun remembered that his friend had thought even the rock-hard buns sold at their school cafeteria was good, and was completely fine that one time the entire class had food poisoning on their school trip.

Aiba’s chili prawns _did_ turn out beautifully, however, and as Jun’s eyes water, and his face started to get just a little too red, he wondered what part of “can’t eat spicy foods” did Aiba not understand. 

“This is delicious,” Ohno exclaimed. Aiba was enthusiastic in his reply, and Jun resisted rolling his eyes.

})i({

Jun had Mondays off at the restaurant where he worked, but other than that, he had never taken a single day off for personal reasons. So when he called up Sho to tell him that he had to go “home” – letting Sho assume that he was visiting family – Sho had said he could take the week.

“I don’t really need a whole week, I’ll be back tomorrow –”

“Look, Matsumoto. I like you, and you’re one of the best chefs in town, so I’ll definitely miss you when you’re gone.” Jun wondered for a moment if Sho was talking about the loss to the restaurant, or because Sho himself would miss his cooking. “But it’s nice to be reminded that you’re human, and that you have a home to go to. Take the week off; Nino will manage until then.”

Sho’s tone had been final, and even though Jun would usually argue back, this time he was on the phone, with Ohno and Aiba both looking on at him. “But –”

“Your kitchen will still be in one piece by the time you get back. I promise.”

That wasn’t what he was worried about. Ninomiya was a brilliant chef, and Jun knew that he would be able to fill in his place without causing any problems. But he still felt uneasy. “But –”

“I’ll see you in a week,” Sho said again. “Bye.”

He heard the click as Sho hung up, and pulled his own phone away to stare at it blankly. He had never really lost an argument with Sho before – but then again, this wasn’t an argument, he reminded himself. Sho just wasn’t listening to him at all.

“So you’re staying for the week?”

Ohno actually looked _hopeful_ , and he found that he couldn’t say no. “I guess,” he said. “I’ll have to check with the hotels again, then, to see if they have rooms after this weekend. The conventions would be over by then.”

“But why stay at a hotel when you could stay with us?” Aiba asked him, and turned to Ohno. “Right?”

Ohno was nodding, and before Jun knew it, the two were already extracting a promise from him not to even consider staying elsewhere while he was in town.

})i({

Aiba, Jun decided, was like anchovies. He was an acquired taste. Jun still couldn’t quite stand the fish, but he found himself tolerating Aiba’s loud exuberance more easily than he thought he would. Ohno had odd working hours, so it was Aiba who accompanied him more. Aiba had taken him around the town, as if he hadn’t lived there in his childhood, and didn’t already know most of the places there.

When he pointed that out, Aiba went quiet. “That’s right,” he said. “Oh-chan said that you used to live here.” He laughed softly, not really out of amusement. “I guess I’m the tourist here, not you.”

“How’d you know Ohno?” Jun asked, nonchalantly, as if the answer didn’t really matter to him. He just wanted to change the subject.

“When I first came down here and was looking for a place to stay, we met at the housing agent’s office, and decided that we ought to share.”

Just like that? Jun frowned. Perhaps there was more to the story that Aiba wasn’t telling, because he couldn’t imagine anyone making the decision to live with a complete strange off the bat. But then again, when he remembered Ohno’s blankness and Aiba’s tendency to get overexcited and all over the place, he realized that Aiba might just be telling him what actually happened.

“What about you – how’d you and Oh-chan meet?”

“We lived in the same town,” Jun replied. “Went to the same school. We were neighbours, too, but somehow that never seemed to matter much – I was too young for him to actually consider me a friend, after all. But we took the same bus, and he would let me sit with him, even if the other kids laughed at him for having to babysit the neighbour. My grandmother had to go to the hospital for treatments in the evening – I lived with my grandmother back then – and I would be at his place. I guess he really was kind of like my babysitter.”

“He said that the two of you lost touch in junior high.”

“Yes.” Jun’s lips thinned; he hoped Aiba wouldn’t ask.

“What happened?”

Looking away, Jun took a few moments before answering. “My grandmother died.”

})i({

If he wanted to be honest with himself, he would admit that there was a small, shameful part of him that had been relieved to hear about his grandmother’s death. He had been dreading having to talk to her, and now he never had to.

He would never forgive himself for feeling that relief, for being such a coward back then that he’d wanted to avoid that talk so much.

That evening he had been at Ohno’s. That was normal. What hadn’t been normal was that Ohno was upset. He had known Ohno for a long time, had known Ohno to be unflappable and strong and cool and everything he wanted to be when he was older, so it disturbed him to see Ohno like that.

_I’m not – what they said_ , Ohno had said. _I don’t like boys like that._ He had seemed so unsure of himself, like if enough of the other kids had accused him of being gay, then he would be.

Jun would never consider Ohno feminine, or any of the things the other boys had said. He didn’t understand it at all, and didn’t understand the implication of what he was saying when he asked Ohno to kiss him. Ohno had given him a strange look, and he had explained, seriously, that Ohno wouldn’t feel anything at all, and it would prove those boys wrong, because to him Ohno was a guy, and guys were supposed to like girls.

Everything had seemed so simple back then.

But then, making a face like he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing, Ohno’s lips fell to his, pressing experimentally. And something he never expected happened – something curled in his gut, painful and pleasant, like it was something he’d wanted, something he’d waited for.

He pulled back, surprised.

Ohno was already dragging the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping off any traces of Jun, before grinning. _You’re right_ , Ohno had said. _I didn’t feel a thing. It’s nothing like kissing girls at all._

The day Ohno realized that he didn’t like boys was the day that Jun discovered he _did_ , and he was agonizing over how to tell his grandmother when the hospital called.

Of course, he had grown up since then, and learned that attraction didn’t quite work that way. Perhaps Ohno did like boys, and just hadn’t been attracted to him. Perhaps his own attraction had been an outcome of his admiration for his neighbour. It was a long time before he would become comfortable with himself, but Ohno hadn’t been part of any of that, because he hadn’t really spoken to Ohno, other than with a few short words, ever since that evening.

})i({

Aiba was actually kind of pretty. Jun thought this when they were walking back from the station in the evening, and something about the way the sunlight sparkled back at him in Aiba’s eyes – or maybe it was his smile – caught him. He didn’t say anything when Aiba talked about new recipes he was working on. It was when Aiba got side tracked and started to tell Jun something funny that happened at his restaurant, and Jun offered a small smile, that Aiba stopped walking, and faced him.

“Are you always like this?”

He blinked at Aiba in surprise. “Like what?”

“Like _this_ ,” Aiba gestured to him, but he had no idea what Aiba was talking about, other than the fact that there was something about him that displeased Aiba. “You’re always so – remote.”

Jun looked down, and away. He felt something in him shrink, as he remembered all the things that he’d been called – by the other kids at the orphanage, by his teachers, by the other students at school. “Remote” was hardly the worst of it, and he knew that Aiba didn’t mean it offensively, but. 

“I guess,” he said. His voice was low, but neutral in tone.

Aiba didn’t reply; after a few beats, he looked up at the other man, to see Aiba frowning at him. But then he smoothed out his expression, and spoke lightly. “You know, Oh-chan told me about you before.”

“Did he?”

Aiba nodded. “He said that you were this smart, scrawny kid who lived next door to him, that you take everything way too seriously but also that you were funny, and had this huge, dorky grin, and that you were kind of a geek.” Realising what he had said, he added hastily, “he meant that in a good way. Like, you got really enthusiastic about things you like, and that you were never ashamed to admit to it. He said that that was what he liked best about you, and why he always remembered you after all this time. He said that he would never have the guts to do what he wanted in life, if it wasn’t for you.”

Considering that what Ohno “wanted” was to become the top host at some cheesy establishment frequented by middle-aged women, Jun wasn’t too sure if it was something he should be thanked for. “Um.”

“So when he said that he found you again, I was looking forward to meeting you.”

Even though Aiba hadn’t said it, Jun could feel the “but” lingering in the air between them. 

But Jun wasn’t anything like the man Ohno described. But Jun wasn’t funny, or fun, or at all interesting to know. But Jun wasn’t warm or kind or any of the things one wanted in a friend. But Jun was the kind of person who cared more about his work than anything else. 

Standing before Aiba, who apparently looked pretty even in the darkening light, all Jun could think about was Ninomiya, who _was_ smart and funny and friendly (if a bit sharp) and all the things Jun wasn’t, and who would steal the hearts of the line cooks while Jun was gone. When he returned, his presence would probably be resented, and the perfect routine he’d created would be in ruins, and he couldn’t even get Sho to fire Ninomiya – who was a great sous chef, and most importantly, whose disappearance would make everyone hate him even more. 

“What are you thinking about?” Aiba asked. 

It was tempting to tell Aiba everything; his wide eyes and earnest expression gave Jun the impression that he really wanted to know, and that he would actually care. But Jun was an expert at hiding behind masks, and he kept his distant look in place.

“Nothing,” he said shortly. “I’m cooking tonight.”

He tried to remember the contents of Aiba’s fridge, and the groceries they had went out to buy. He could probably make something simple, but elegant enough to represent the kind of cooking he usually did. He was already deep in thought, trying to come up with alternatives if Aiba didn’t have what he needed, when a shadow fell over him.

He looked up at Aiba. “What.”

Aiba grinned. “Let me help you.”

“No.”

“ _Come on_. It’ll be fun! Two great chefs working together, and all that. Think of all the great experiments we could do.”

Jun ignored Aiba, and walked on. “No.”

Aiba trotted next to him, like some overgrown puppy. Really, the way his hair fell over his eyes the way it did, it was ridiculous. “Okay,” Aiba said. “Okay. You don’t like experiments, right. You like everything to be exact. Precise.”

Had Aiba been talking to Ninomiya?

“I can do that,” Aiba continued. “I absolutely can. You just tell me what to do, and I’ll back you up. I’ll be like – I’ll be your assistant!”

“I already have one, and he’s a pain in the ass, so I don’t think I’ll need another, thank you very much.”

They were already reaching the front door of the apartment building. It was getting very dark outside, but the street lights weren’t yet switched on, so the only light was the one streaming from the windows of the buildings surrounding them. Jun paused, remembering that it wasn’t his apartment, and therefore he didn’t have the keys.

Aiba was dangling the keys in his hand. “I’m not opening the door until you say yes,” he said.

He, Jun decided, would have to wait until someone else opens the door for him. Why couldn’t the place have a buzzer, or an electronic keypad, or something? It might take only a short while before someone else would open the door, but knowing his luck, he probably had a long wait ahead of him. Still, he stared at the front door determinedly, and raised a hand, as if to knock, but Aiba’s fingers circled his wrist, and brought his hand down before he managed to do so.

“Aiba-san,” he murmured, suddenly very much aware of the space between them. “Let go.”

“‘Aiba-san.’” Aiba repeated his words exactly the way he said it, each word enunciated clearly, carefully, before giving in to his strange, breathy laughter that Jun was starting to get used to. He was standing right behind Jun, and Jun could feel his breath tickling at his nape. “Oh-chan’s right, though. You’re so _cute_.”

The surprise was something Jun couldn’t quite hide – his eyes grew round and his lips parted a little as he felt the blush coming. No one had ever said anything like that to him. 

Aiba laughed again, but stepped away to give Jun space, as he fumbled at the keys, looking for the right one. “I like that look on you,” he commented. “I guess I have to work at finding it more often.”

})i({

Aiba was interesting. Jun figured this out as he watched Aiba lead Ohno, who had come back from work a little tipsy and a lot tired. Usually Ohno wouldn’t be back until early in the morning, and he’d be sleeping until noon, when he’d leave again to do errands for the club, or whatever it was that he did before they opened. Jun didn’t exactly ask, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. That night, though, Ohno returned early, claiming that he had to make sure he got to spend _some_ time with his childhood friend who was only there for a week.

As he watched Aiba taking care of Ohno, he wondered if he would still be keeping in contact with Ohno after he leaves this time around, and if there was something more to Aiba and Ohno’s relationship.

The moment the thought entered his mind, he wished it didn’t, because he couldn’t unthink it no matter how he tried. He pulled his gaze away from the two of them – Aiba was egging Ohno on to tell him stories about when Jun was younger – and focused on not burning anything. He had been away from his kitchen for too long, he felt like, and even though everything was coming up perfect, he still had a niggling feeling that he was going to screw up any second now. 

It would make sense, he supposed, if Aiba and Ohno were together. It certainly would make more sense than if they had been strangers who had decided to share an apartment together, out of the blue.

He wished he could sort out his own feelings about the matter, but ever since he came back, it had seemed like everything that he had worked so hard to hold together was in danger of falling apart.

})i({

His mother was a wonderful cook. He knew this, because his grandmother had told him. She wasn’t anything like him – she had left home at sixteen, with big dreams of becoming an idol or actress or _something_ , anything. She had been a waitress for two years before she came back, pregnant with him. He never understood why his mother would leave behind what his grandmother would have given her – one of the best cafes in town – or turn her back from her enormous talents, as his grandmother would say. He would have asked her, if he could. But she had died in bringing him to life, so he never had the chance.

His grandmother had sold her café when Jun was five; she was too old for it, she claimed, and it no longer meant as much to her as it used to. It was only years later that he realized how much his grandmother still missed it, and that in rejecting it his mother had probably broken his grandmother’s heart. He had vowed, then, that he would buy it back one day, and be all that his mother couldn’t.

It was amazing, all the things that he had forgotten. Standing before the Chinese restaurant that had once, many years ago, been a café, Jun remembered everything.

Aiba turned to him, beaming. “This is where I work.”

})i({

“He doesn’t know, does he.” When Ohno looked at him blankly, Jun clarified, “Aiba. He doesn’t know that he’s working at my grandmother’s place.”

“It hasn’t been that in a long time,” Ohno said gently.

“I know that,” Jun replied, testy. “I just meant –”

“I know.” 

“Are the two of you together?” The question left his mouth before he knew it. Ohno looked surprised. “Sorry. Filtering system. Non-existent.” Ohno chose not to reply, and Jun felt more fidgety. “I mean,” he said. “If you are, then I want you to know that I’m okay with it. In fact, having me around must be difficult, I’m in the way, I’ll –”

“Jun,” Ohno interrupted. “It’s fine.”

It was near dawn but not quite yet, and there were still stars visible in the sky. Both of them were looking up, and Jun felt like a kid again, even though he was pretty sure that he had never watched the stars together with Ohno back then. 

After a long silence, Ohno said, “I don’t like guys that way. Remember? We established that – back then.”

Embarrassed by the memory – adolescent stupidity, Jun told himself – he ducked, and forced out a chuckle. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Aiba does, though.”

Jun eyes shot up to meet Ohno’s, then. Ohno’s gaze on him was steady, like he somehow knew what Jun was feeling, even though Jun himself thought that he didn’t.

“I’m leaving in two days,” he said weakly.

It was only much later that he realized that it hadn’t been a proper response to Ohno’s words, and that he had given more of himself away without meaning to.

})i({

Aiba was a lot of things, but one thing he could never be was boring. Having been described as “too serious” and “dead boring” so many times, Jun knew a lot about the subject of boredom. His problem, he knew, was that he honestly was never bored, had never been bored by the things he did. But he supposed that not everyone relished hard work and attention to detail the way he did.

No one would ever find Aiba boring, he supposed. Aiba did things like singing and dancing in the kitchen and accidentally putting things on fire and distracting the hell out of everybody else. Aiba had interests that other people actually found interesting. And most importantly, Aiba just _radiates_ excitement – even if you weren’t interested, you’d be pulled in by his enthusiasm.

Which was why Jun was at the pet shop, watching as Aiba tried to hand a puppy over to him, and watching the puppy attempting to escape, and possibly run for its life. “I told you,” he said. “Animals never like me.”

“But animals _always_ like me,” Aiba insisted.

Jun smiled, feeling indulgent. “And so?”

“So I thought that if they hated you and loved me, maybe if I’m around we’d neutralize each other or something, so you could play with them.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” Jun told him, but he kept his smile, both amused and touched.

“This is my favourite place to come to when I’m feeling down and need to cheer up,” Aiba said. He had given up trying to force the puppy on to Jun, and was hugging it to himself instead. “They never minded me coming in to play with the puppies.”

Aiba looked like he wanted to stay longer, but cut their visit short since it wouldn’t be fun if Jun could only watch, he said.

That evening the two of them walked randomly around town. Now and then Jun would oblige in telling Aiba little stories about his past, but mostly they walked in silence.

“Why’d you come back?” Aiba asked, as they neared the street where Ohno’s club was. Aiba had wanted to go in as customers and request for Ohno, just for fun, but Jun refused. It was just too weird.

“Something got delivered for me here. They thought that it might be important, so they asked me to come over to get it personally.”

“And is it? Important, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” Jun frowned. “I haven’t opened it yet. I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Whatever it is, it’s from the past, and I’ve put all of that behind me a long time ago.”

“But,” Aiba protested. “Aren’t you curious _at all_?”

Aiba was – Jun could tell. He was trying to act normally, or what passes for normal for him, but as far as Jun was concerned at that moment Aiba was made completely out of excitement and curiosity.

“It could be about your father, or something! Maybe you have family, still!”

Ohno must have told Aiba about his mother, and why he had lived with his grandmother, before. He didn’t know what he thought of that, but knew that a part of him was relieved that he wouldn’t need to explain. And anyway, Aiba was right. He probably did have a father, somewhere, but Jun doubted that the brown envelope would say anything about that. He didn’t particularly want to know, anyway.

“I’ll open it later,” he said. Then, looking at Aiba wilting slightly in disappointment, Jun almost laughed. It surprised him, because he hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

})i({

They ended up staying out until dawn, waiting. Aiba insisted that he knew the perfect ramen stall near the riverside, so they walked there with the intention of waiting until it was time to pick Ohno up from work. It was Jun’s last night there, after all, and Ohno had hardly been around the whole time.

They talked about nothing – at least nothing that was important. As his head was starting to feel a little light from drinking, Jun spoke less, and listened – or at least watched – as Aiba talked. He wondered about Aiba, wondered why he couldn’t dislike him. Aiba was too loud and too nosy and too bright and just – too much. Jun shouldn’t like the way Aiba spoke in too familiar a manner, shouldn’t like the way Aiba sat too close, and leaned towards him in a way that felt too intimate. He definitely shouldn’t like that Aiba was too careless in the kitchen, only laughing when he made a mess or caused something to explode, again. 

And yet he knew, and was becoming more haunted by the knowledge with each hour that passes, that he might miss Aiba too much for someone who hadn’t even been in his life for longer than a week.

He let Aiba pay for their ramen, and they walked long the riverside until they reached the bridge that they would cross to go back to Ohno’s club. Halfway on the bridge, though, they lingered, knowing that the sun was going to rise, and that they would have a better view from where they were.

“Oh-chan said that you thought we were together,” Aiba said, in the middle of a conversation about something else entirely.

Jun had stopped being surprised at Ohno’s readiness to divulge every private moment with Aiba. “It was just a thought; you two seemed to get along very well.”

“Well, he’s amazing.” Aiba looked at Jun pointedly. “He’s also straight, so I’m hardly his type.”

Colouring slightly, Jun avoided Aiba’s gaze, staring instead at the view before them. “He mentioned that, yes.”

“And more importantly,” Aiba added. “He isn’t mine.” 

“I see.” Jun nodded. He wanted to say that it hardly mattered, because he had just been curious and hadn’t wanted them to think they had to keep it a secret from him, if they really had been romantically involved. He wanted to explain that nothing had changed, he would go back, and things would go back to the way they were before. 

“Aren’t you curious?”

He turned sharply to face Aiba; he hadn’t realized that he had yet to say the things he was thinking of saying. Aiba’s voice was lower, huskier. He had to swallow before answering. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“Are you sure?” There was a definite smile in Aiba’s voice, as he shifted his position so that he was directly in front of Jun, instead of standing by Jun’s side. 

Jun smiled, placing a hand on Aiba’s arm, neither forbidding nor inviting. “I have a pretty good idea. And I’m flattered, but I’m afraid that I can’t reciprocate.”

“Liar.” Aiba was grinning down at him, a smug smile playing at his lips, reminding Jun somewhat of Ninomiya. He almost cursed out loud as he thought of his sous chef, and the ways he might be plotting to take over Jun’s job. “Not wanting to admit to certain feelings isn’t the same as not having them, you know, Jun-kun.”

Jun’s eyes narrowed in irritation, distracted from his worries about Ninomiya. Deciding to erase that annoying smile, he lowered his lashes, focusing his gaze on the curve of Aiba’s neck, before looking back up and meeting Aiba’s eyes, smirking a little at the other man’s blink of surprise. Then his hand went up to Aiba’s collar, tugged a little, and he kissed him.

He kissed Aiba. He was kissing Aiba. Who was Ohno’s roommate. Who lived and worked here, a place that he had been trying to forget for so long, that he never wanted to return to. Who was going to have to be left behind.

A gentle pressure of lips was enough to wipe away Aiba’s smile, but Jun never expected how eager Aiba would respond, how easily he persuaded Jun into deepening it into something more. Jun felt like he was split in two, almost – one part of him frantically, logically explaining that he had to stop and leave, while another just as frantically telling him, _more_.

The moment he pushed Aiba away, backing up into the edge of the bridge, was the moment he almost protested his discontent of being suddenly bereft of Aiba. 

“You’re right,” he managed to say, acknowledging Aiba’s earlier words. He could only speak in short sentences, as he breathed shallow breaths. “But having certain – feelings,” he said, stumbling over his words a little, “isn’t the same as wanting to act on them.”

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Aiba seemed to be amused. Jun bristled.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not a romantic – far from it, actually. And I don’t see what good could come from any of this. What’s going to happen next? Do you think I’m just going to come to stay here? Do you think I want you to follow me home? Or – do you actually think that the long distance thing works?” Jun knew that he sounded slightly mocking, perhaps even condescending, and he was almost afraid to look into Aiba’s eyes as he spoke. When he finally looked up, though, what he saw wasn’t hurt, but puzzlement, and a touch of determination.

“I just wanted to have you while I can. _If_ I can,” Aiba amended. 

“You –” Jun shook his head, and felt the laughter coming before he gave in to the urge. All the tenseness and irritation washed away with his laughter. He should have guessed; Aiba really was that simple.

“You complicate things too much, don’t you?” Aiba asked, grinning at him, obviously delighting in his laughter. Then Aiba’s hand slipped into his, and tugged. “Oh-chan is going to be done with work soon,” he said. “Let’s go get him, and the three of us will go somewhere fun.”

“He needs to rest,” Jun reminded Aiba, but his words were waved away as he was pulled along, walking grudgingly back to Ohno’s club.

})i({

“I’m going to work on Monday.”

“Jun? Is that you?” Sho sounded concerned and almost motherly. It made Jun want to laugh, so he did. Just a little. “Are you all right?” Jun’s laughter seemed to alarm Sho, and he wondered why, before remembering that he rarely laughed.

“I said,” he repeated, “that I’m going to work on Monday.”

“You can’t,” Sho told him in a placating tone. “We’re closed on Mondays, Jun. You know that.”

“But I’ve been gone all week,” he whined. “And I’ll be on the train back tomorrow, so I can work on Monday.”

“Wait – have you been drinking?” Sho definitely sounded alarmed, now, and it amused Jun. “Enough to get drunk, too…” Sho muttered to himself, before addressing Jun again. “Is there someone there? Pass your phone to them, okay?”

“Monday,” Jun murmured, happy. “Tell Ninomiya that he’s not keeping my kitchen.”

Sho didn’t respond, and Jun could hear shuffling on the other side, before someone finally spoke. A different, but just as familiar, voice. “Jun.”

“You’re not keeping my kitchen, Ninomiya,” he said.

“Yes, you’re coming back to us, aren’t you?” Ninomiya actually sounded _nice_ , that for a moment a part of Jun’s (fuzzy) brain sharpened somewhat. Something was not quite right, it was telling him. If Ninomiya was nice, there had to be a reason. But the effort was too much, and he decided that it didn’t matter. “Now, Jun. Are you with someone else?”

“Yes! Ohno! And also Aiba. Aiba’s cute,” he said, almost giggling, but then he remembered that he was talking to _Ninomiya_ , and stopped.

“Isn’t that nice. Now, can you pass the phone to one of them?”

“You’re not taking Aiba,” he replied, petulant. Ninomiya sniffed, unimpressed. “He’s my kitchen.” He was vaguely aware that he wasn’t making sense, but he couldn’t quite make out why.

“Of course he is,” Ninomiya said, soothing. “But I need you to do something, okay, Jun-kun? Pass the phone.”

Jun paused for a long moment, blinking at Aiba and Ohno, who were competing over who could tell the most ridiculous story. Aiba was winning; Ohno told really good ones, but they were weird in the surreal sense rather than downright ridiculous. “He wants to talk to one of you,” he declares, remembering Ninomiya’s instruction.

Both Aiba and Ohno turned to him. “I’ll take the phone,” Aiba said. “Oh-chan, why don’t you help Jun get some water, or coffee?”

})i({

Spending the entire night and most of the morning with Aiba and Ohno was probably a bad idea, Jun reflected as he boarded the train back home. He thought of his kitchen waiting for him, and felt mostly relieved to be going back, although he also dreaded to see what might have changed in his absence. He shook his head, thinking about Aiba’s words – that he liked to complicate things.

He thought of Aiba experimenting in Ohno’s kitchen, of Aiba’s easy laughter, of the way he said exactly what he thought, and did exactly what he felt like. Maybe, Jun thought, there was a lesson to be learned there, somewhere.

(He had a feeling that he would be his usual self the moment he was back in familiar surroundings, but at the moment, he told himself to relax.)

The brown envelope was still jutting out of his bag. He had almost left it behind, and stuffed it in the bag carelessly right before stepping out of the house. He didn’t think that he was going to open it, but.

Sighing a little, and feeling stupidly sentimental, he took out the envelope, and stared at the handwriting. He still couldn’t sense anything out of it, so in the end he tore at where it was sealed, as carefully as he could. Then he reached for the contents, pulling them out – and frowned.

It wasn’t from his father, like Aiba said it might be. It wasn’t even from his mother, or grandmother, or anyone related to him.

It was from Ohno.

It was a notebook – the kind they used to use in school, and it was full of words, from stories to diary entries to letters addressed to him, and pictures. There were more pictures than words, but that wasn’t surprising, since Ohno never liked to use too many words when a short phrase, or a gesture, or a picture, would be enough.

The book was obviously from a long time ago – probably around the same time his grandmother had passed away, and when he had stopped acknowledging Ohno at school or elsewhere. The letters proved it; they mostly asked if he was all right, if he needed Ohno. It was the worst thing, Ohno had written, that he might have driven Jun away on the same day that Jun might have needed his friendship the most.

Jun remembered the kiss, and realized that Ohno had felt as guilty about it as he did. Although his guilt was borne from his relief that he never had to tell, while Ohno’s was because Ohno feared that he might have hurt Jun’s feelings.

There was only one entry in the entire book that was new. Ohno had drawn himself, prostate, asking for forgiveness. _Sorry to make you come all the way_ , he wrote. _I wanted to see for myself that you’re all right now, that you’re doing fine._

“What an idiot,” Jun found himself saying, but he didn’t know whether he was talking about Ohno or himself. Probably both, he figured.

Something resembling an epiphany was lurking at the edge of his mind, about to make itself known. He was thinking that he should remember it, whatever it was, when his phone rang. He looked around, apologized to the person sitting next to him before getting up and walking towards the back of the car, before picking up.

“Jun? Are you in the train now?”

He smiled. Of course it would be Aiba. “Yes,” he said. “The train will be leaving soon.”

“Have you opened the envelope?”

“Did you know what was in it?”

“No; why, is it from your dad?”

“No. Better,” he replied, and realized that he was telling the truth. Aiba had told him not to discount family, but he supposed there was family, and then there was _family_. People who cared about him, that he cared about, no matter how annoying he – or they – got. Ohno was definitely family. So was Sho, he supposed, and maybe even Ninomiya – although he would never ever admit that out loud. And, he suddenly realized, the thought stuck in his throat, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe – so was Aiba.

At least, it was what he would want to be for Aiba, would want Aiba to be for him.

He wanted to say something, then. He had let the silence go on for too long, and couldn’t hear anything but the static, and the sound of the train starting to move. 

“Aiba,” he managed.

“Yes?”

“Would you –” he paused, holding back the urge to curse. Why was it so hard to talk? “Would you like to – come with me?”

Aiba laughed. Jun waited; it wasn’t a mean laugh, or an amused one. It was affectionate, and it was _Aiba_. “Isn’t it a bit too soon for that?” Aiba asked.

“I don’t know,” Jun admitted, because he honestly didn’t. If anything, it suddenly felt like it wasn’t soon enough. 

“I don’t know…” Aiba echoed, sounding like he was mulling the thought over. “I was thinking of leaving my job here anyway – they didn’t like the occasional explosions, even though I explained to them that that’s what makes things _fun_ , you know?”

Jun winced, and was glad that Aiba wasn’t there to see it.

Aiba continued. “But I wasn’t thinking of moving _that_ far away from here, so I don’t know… will there be kissing?”

Jun blinked, surprised by the change in subject. “I… suppose,” he said slowly.

“Now, that does tip the balance towards the city a little more, but still…”

He had the distinct feeling that Aiba was playing with him, but decided to go along with it. “I have it on good authority that there will be more than kissing involved, too,” he informed Aiba.

“Really, now.” He could almost hear the grin in Aiba’s voice. “Tell me more.”

And he _would_ , except that he heard footsteps, and remembered where he was. “I have to go,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

“I’ll hold you onto that,” Aiba said. Jun almost jumped, startled, because he had already hung up, and the voice had come from behind him.

“You – what are you doing here?”

“I told you,” Aiba said. “I want to have you, as long as I can.” He beamed, obviously proud of himself. “I’m coming with you, but only for a visit, okay? We’ll see how things go from there. How does that sound to you?”

Aiba was a lot of things, Jun knew, but perfect wasn’t one of them. He didn’t blame Aiba for it; nobody was, after all. But Aiba had that quality that he had always both admired and resented – Aiba never tried to be. He just did what he wanted, and said what he thought. And – Jun realized – he would have come along, even if Jun had still refused to admit that he wanted Aiba there.

He grinned so widely that it hurt, and he didn’t even stop to wonder when the last time he let his feelings show so blatantly. “That,” he replied, “sounds absolutely perfect.”


End file.
